


Champagne

by jupiter_james



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Established Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Frottage, Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov side pairing, M/M, Mutual Pining, No Underage Sex, POV Katsuki Yuuri, POV Yuri Plisetsky, Post-Canon, The Explicit rating is ONLY for Otabek and Yuri, Victor Nikiforov is really invested in romantic melodrama, Yuri Plisetsky is 18 before anything sexy happens, handjobs, oh my god there was only one futon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 17:13:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21019343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jupiter_james/pseuds/jupiter_james
Summary: Something happened in Barcelona, after Barcelona. Yuri Plisetsky can't say what, but he can feel it. Something different at the core of his relationship with Otabek Altin, his only real friend. It follows him through two competitive seasons, his only friend becoming a master at avoiding him, a confusing birthday present, and a trip back to Hasetsu to celebrate the "about time" wedding of Katsuki Yuuri and Victor Nikiforov. Yuri Plisetsky hates the romance genre, but there's something about Hasetsu in the spring. He hates it, but there's something about being close to Otabek again. He hates it, but Victor can't leave well enough alone when he's so happy, so as a wedding present to himself, does a small thing to make a big thing. Of course, Yuri's never been very good at following the planned routine.





	Champagne

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Шампанское](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26305528) by [fandom Kumys 2020 (fandom_Kumys_2018)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandom_Kumys_2018/pseuds/fandom%20Kumys%202020), [silksosoft](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silksosoft/pseuds/silksosoft)

This banquet is a lot different from last year's. In some respects, anyway. Now that everyone knows how Yuuri can get, there's a lot of plying him with Brut, a lot of Victor taking away the Brut, and a lot of Christophe looking slightly depressed that he hasn't got an excuse to take his clothes off. Yet.

He keeps saying the night is still young. Which, for a rowdy crowd of skaters having finished the culmination of their season, is probably true.

But with no imminent dance offs about to happen, Yuuri finds himself enjoying the whole thing this time around. He's got nothing to be depressed about this year. He's smiling so hard his face hurts. Victor's hand is a nearly-constant warm pressure on his lower back. Christophe's hand is a semi-constant squeeze on his ass. Everyone else's hands are firm handshakes or light presses followed by congratulations. And everyone who talks to him seems both impressed and pleased.

He knows that feeling.

Of course, the result of having all of those full champagne flutes taken from him means that they're ending up with Victor, who is absolutely drinking them. And then loosening his tie. Then talking _all_ about their "engagement" to anyone within shouting distance. The gossip is fairly astounding within the hour. When they approach Yuuri about it, his intensely private nature takes over and forces out a, "He hasn't even _asked_ properly." Never mind who bought the rings in the first place.

It's a relief he's not the only one they're talking about.

The most buzz, famous engaged world champion or not, is all about Yuri Plisetsky and his incredible senior debut transformation during his exhibition skate.

Throughout the night, Yuuri finds his eyes wandering over to the corner of the room where Yuri has stubbornly planted himself in the company of Otabek, both of them with matching scowls, but for some reason neither looking displeased with the silent company. Solidarity in forsaking all others, probably.

He must have been lost in thought too deeply, because his shoulders jump when an arm goes around them and a small plate of hors d'oeuvres slides into his hands. Victor's warm voice rumbles against his ear, always in that overly-intimate way that Yuuri is convinced he does just for the standard flushed reaction. Which he hasn't been getting lately because it's a good feeling, and Yuuri likes it now.

"They were a surprise, weren't they?" Victor muses.

"Yeah," Yuuri agrees. "Yurio's exhibition skate was... something else," he says with the face of a man who isn't entirely convinced he hadn't been hallucinating.

"We made him jealous," Victor says, chin tucked against Yuuri's shoulder, voice warmer with his humor. "He wanted to outdo us."

At that, Yuuri cracks a smile and turns his head slightly, only able to catch a glimpse of silver hair and arresting blue-green eyes at this angle. "Well, he did. By a lot."

He can feel Victor's chuckle against the whole of his back. He wags a finger right in front of Yuuri's nose. "There's a difference between intimacy and sexual hunger."

Yuuri swats Victor's hand away, ears a little hot. "He's almost sixteen. That's... I mean... Yakov probably had a stroke watching his last minute stunt."

Victor laughs uproariously, finally pulling away. He takes a shrimp from the plate and pops it in his mouth. "Yakov is used to being angry."

"That's right," Yuuri says slyly. "He coached you."

An obnoxiously sloppy and noisy kiss lands against his ear, making him shudder. "And I've come to believe that _you_ take after _me_, so there's no hope for any of us."

"The Russian influence," Yuuri says solemnly.

Victor's gaze is hard, then soft, then very fondly amused. "You've changed, too."

Eyes widening in surprise, Yuuri says, "How? Besides being a more confident skater, I mean."

Shaking his head, Victor says, "You never used to be able to run your mouth at me like this. You only rebelled with your skating."

Yuuri can feel his whole upper body drooping. "Sorry," he mutters. A finger under his chin instinctively straightens his back again; draws his head up.

"I like it," Victor answers, leaning close in that overwhelming way that used to be scary but now just makes the rest of the world disappear. "There are many things I can do to stop it."

Cheeks on fire, always, _always_ tempted by this man, Yuuri nearly lets loose something that'll make Victor try, but JJ's descending on them presently with a shockingly humble congratulations and even more shockingly sincere happiness about Victor's break ending. He's probably also a little pleased with himself for ruining a private moment, though it can all be forgiven tonight. There's plenty of time now.

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

It's cold outside, the fresh air welcome after the stifling heat inside the banquet hall. Or maybe it's just the oppressive crush of bodies making it seem worse than it is. Yuri viciously yanks at his tie, then pops the top button of his dress shirt, sighing with deliverance when he can finally _breathe_ again. "Working on his image" sucks.

"Yakov is looking for you."

Yuri rolls his eyes. "Why do you think I'm out here?"

Otabek leans against the wall as if he's melting into it in a way that strangely impresses Yuri with its effortless casual carelessness. "For someone so willing to be a rebel, you're too scared of getting yelled at."

"Whatever."

"I liked your exhibition."

Yuri side eyes his friend. "Thanks. It was yours, too."

Rolling his shoulder against the wall, Otabek turns himself fully towards Yuri. "Was it really because of Victor and Katsuki and riding the coattails of your free skate?"

He's sure his scowl is more of a grimace. "Who cares."

Otabek is silent for a long time. Dark eyes boring into Yuri's so hard that he can't hold it. He'll never admit how unnerving, but also... _interesting_ the expressionless intensity is. "I do."

Those two words punch Yuri as effectively as a hit to the solar plexus. Body reacting on its own, his fist flies up to knuckle against his chest. Brow furrowed he says, "It doesn't matter." He presses his lips together hard, annoyed. Why can't he just stop being this way for a minute to have a real conversation? Otabek is his _friend_. Too bad he's never had one before. Maybe if he'd been able to practice, he wouldn't be shoving away the very one he inexplicably wants to keep. As always, an apology lodges itself in his throat, refusing to be heard. The anger wells up with it.

A soft snort whips it all away like a sudden gust of wind. "You're tough. Can it matter to me?"

Yuri doesn't realize he's been staring at Otabek without blinking until his eyes start to burn. He can't answer. What sort of question is that, anyway? What the hell is he supposed to say? What the hell does Otabek want to hear? Since when has he cared what anyone _wanted_ to hear? Is he going soft? He rubs harder at his chest. "Skate with me next time," he says.

The almost-smile makes it all worth it. Every bit of all of it. "You sure?"

Yuri blinks. "Why not?"

There's a light creak of leather and the scuff of shoes on concrete as Otabek steps directly in front of him. "It won't be easy for me."

Yuri glares up at him. "Don't start acting like I'm better than you now," he snaps. "I hate it. You work just as hard as me."

A hand slaps against the wall beside his head. The tiny smile turns into something that reminds Yuri sharply of a tiger. "You don't get it yet."

The familiar angry indignation flares again like it had just been waiting. It's almost a relief. He wants to kick Otabek in the knee, but that would be unprofessional. "I'm sick of hearing everyone say that crap to me, too."

"I'm not saying it for the same reasons they are," Otabek promises. He pushes back, putting a measure of distance between them that confuses Yuri with his disappointment at it. Hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket, Otabek continues, "I'll skate with you when we'll be doing it for the same reason."

"What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?" Yuri demands, but Otabek is already leaving, and it's obvious that's all he's come to say, so that's all he's going to say. It's at once infuriating and something he never forgets. Not even for a second. Not even for a year.

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

On his 17th birthday, a small package without a return address arrives. Inside is a silver bracelet only thick enough to be stamped in English with the phrase, "Remember All Of Your Reasons."

It's not Yuri's style at all. It's unobtrusive, small, delicate. It's also certainly from Otabek... though maybe not. Yuri's Angels have become bloodhounds, and it's not like he and Otabek had that conversation in private. He should call and ask. Text and thank him. 

He doesn't do either of those things.

He doesn't do anything until the Cup of China and misses practically all of Otabek's routine because he's too busy staring at the glitter of silver on his wrist when it catches just right against the lights.

Afterwards the man seems to disappear completely, which used to be admirable since Yuri would give anything to emulate it, but now is just super frustrating.

Fate isn't kind enough to put them face to face, either.

He returns to Russia without a single call or text from Otabek.

That day, Yuri takes the gift out of the box and slips it around his wrist. The bracelet sits heavier than anticipated. Solid. Simple. Unexpected. Just like the guy who gave it to him.

He never takes it off, even during competitions, except that one time to have it cleaned and polished. He'd felt half-naked and off kilter the entire day. He doesn't think about.

At least Otabek doesn't say anything about him acting stupid when they talk on the phone that night. He sounds like he always does, but that feels wrong. Even more wrong when Yuri can hear that Otabek's voice has deepened a bit more in the time they haven't seen each other. He looks down at himself, sprawled on the bed, feet hanging off the edge and tries not to think about the expression on his friend's face if he could see his own growth spurt in person.

Wonders why he _doesn't_ want to see it in person.

Yuri never asks.

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

Yuuri and Victor are standing at the entrance of the hot spring to welcome their guests. There's a lot of congratulations going around with a semi-teasing lilt of "it's about damn time," which both of them seem to take in stride.

"Congrats, Katsudon," Yuri says when it's his turn to shake hands.

"Thank you," Yuuri beams. Up close he's sweating a little in his formal kimono, but he looks happier than he's ever been. "Thanks for coming all the way here. Sorry to make you travel so far."

"Wouldn't miss is," Yuri answers, only kind of telling the truth. He isn't a fan of the romance genre, but seeing Victor stumble through a traditional religious wedding ceremony in the most dire and serious of Japanese formality had been a memory to last a lifetime. "You're off to America next?"

Yuuri rolls his eyes and his head towards Victor, who looks unfairly picturesque under the cherry blossoms as he laughs with the small group gathered around him. He'd probably demanded a spring wedding just for the photo op. He still always seems to be posing. "Since I can't enter him into my family registry, he's kind of insisting on something official."

"Romantic bullshit," Yuri mumbles, not unkindly. 

Yuuri shrugs. "We'll have the honeymoon there, too. So I guess it's okay."

For a minute - a split second, honestly - Yuri admires the guy. He's radiating patience and steadfast love that really shouldn't exist in the world as they know it. In another split second, he admits to himself that for some reason, the thought of a heavy existence just doesn't seem to be able to grab him with any weight here in Hasetsu. It never did. "Huh," is what he says.

Then someone is calling Yuuri away; the food has been set up. He squeezes Yuri's shoulder briefly as he passes by smelling like incense and Victor's favorite cologne. Yuri notices a couple strands of gray hair among the black, and smiles. "Going gray early is your idiot husband's fault," he murmurs to himself.

In less than a minute of Yuuri's departure, he's shaking hands upon hands again, talking more than he wants to, and finally being manhandled inside with the rest of the crowd to eat. He's stuffed down onto a cushion at a long table near the grooms and family members. It's an honor - even he knows that, but he's not sure he wants it. It's nice to talk to Yuuko again, though. And he's always liked Axel, Lutz, and Loop. They've grown exponentially in the past few years, but their mouths can still give his a run for its money. He can appreciate that.

Once the champagne toasts are made and the food starting to get passed around, people begin to move. The dining room isn't too cramped, but the lovely weather does inspire a bit of wandering.

Yuri takes that as his cue to slip on his shoes in the entryway and meander out to the yard. No one's out there presently and he gratefully plops down onto the bench under the blooming cherry trees, ears ringing a little in the silence. He closes his eyes and turns his head up to the cold breeze.

"I've always thought you might be claustrophobic."

Yuri _tsks_. "No."

Victor grins at him. As unchanged as ever. "You just hate people," he nods as if he'd expected the answer. "I really did wonder if you'd come."

Leaning back on his hands, Yuri crosses his ankle over his knee. "Why wouldn't I? You hold grudges."

"That's true," Victor laughs. "Maybe not as long as you do, though."

Fair point. And in the spirit of the day of sharing, he says, "I missed Hasetsu."

Victor wanders within arm's reach but doesn't sit down. "I get homesick when I'm away from here."

"It's just _that_ wholesome," Yuri smirks, a sarcastic bite in his voice, if not in his heart.

"It is," Victor answers, never to be baited when he doesn't want to be. He reaches into the folds of his kimono and pulls out a thin box with a ribbon on it. "Happy belated birthday," he says. "Yuuri said I shouldn't bother to mail it since it's only two weeks late."

Curiously, Yuri accepts the gift. He opens it. Fights both the smile and the slight burn in his throat. It's a framed picture of him and Victor, Yuuri and his family. Everyone's smiling except him, so he allows it to happen now.

"You've grown so much in eighteen years," Victor says.

Yuri scoffs. "That sounds gross and fatherly coming from you."

"I was being literal," Victor amends with a look that suggests the exact opposite. "You're very tall now, but still just as skinny."

"Break your hip and die, old man," Yuri answers.

Victor's laughter echoes through the courtyard. He gestures over his shoulder. "I'm going back now." He takes several steps towards the house before turning around again. "Stop making yourself a stranger," he says sternly, and then he's gone.

Yuri cradles the photo in his hands, studying his past self until the light begins to fade out of the afternoon. It gets dark so early in Japan at this time of year. "You weren't as big as you thought you were," he tells that kid.

"You are now," a new/old voice says.

He doesn't want to look up for some reason, but he does. "Did they actually invite you, or are you crashing the party?" Yuri asks with false levity.

Otabek sits down beside him without being invited to. "They'd welcome me either way." He holds out a glass of champagne, and Yuri takes it. 

"Were you here the whole time?"

"I only just got here. My flight was delayed."

"The hell it was, you unsociable bastard." That's the end of the two-year reprimand he'd been craving to get over with.

They both grin at each other, there and gone in a flash before settling back to neutral where they've always been.

"Victor said he was surprised that I'd show up at all for a party, but you probably shocked them more."

"Katsuki's mouth literally dropped open," Otabek confirms in all seriousness.

Yuri laughs and downs the champagne. "I hope somebody took a picture."

"I'm sure they did."

Yuri sets his empty glass aside and unconsciously reaches out, reaches up. He tugs lightly on the short ponytail Otabek has. "When did this happen?" The sides of his head are still shorn close, as is the back, but he's let the top grow. It suits him.

Otabek's shoulder tips up. "I get lazy sometimes."

Two lies in two minutes is a bit much, even for someone so recalcitrant. "I like it," Yuri says.

Otabek's jaw relaxes. "Good."

Ah.

A moment of clarity. As sudden and cold as the waterfall from his past. Otabek is in love with him. Not just now. Since... well, he can't reliably say since before Barcelona, but he suspects given the way that Otabek remembers their shared past in a way that Yuri can't. It's kept him up a few nights.

_Remember All Of Your Reasons._

How stupid. They're not his to begin with.

He eases the elastic out of Otabek's hair, the dark locks falling nearly to his chin. He almost regrets obscuring the face, but he knows he won't miss anything either way. He knows this is the right time, and he also knows that Otabek will keep it to himself, visually at least.

Yuri _hates_ the romance genre. But he's sick with it. He's aching with it. He's everything contained in it, right here and right now, seeing the glint on the bracelet live at last as Otabek reaches up to tuck his hair behind his ear.

"How long are you staying?"

Yuri looks away from the deflection. "A few days. Since I came all this way, I want to visit some places."

Silence again.

Then softly, "My flight didn't get delayed."

"I already knew that," Yuri answers, trying not to sound sour.

Otabek shakes his head. "I was at the gate three hours early. Then, when it was time to board, I..."

Yuri sits up straighter. "Why?"

Otabek meets his gaze squarely. "I was avoiding you."

For love or money, Yuri would never have been brave enough to say that, as obvious as it was. So he scowls. "And you're done with that now, huh?"

Otabek doesn't move, but his presence seems to press closer. "Yes," he says firmly.

Yuri nods. "Good."

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

"There you are," Yuuri says, relieved as he finally finds Victor in their bedroom on the second floor. "Everyone's been wondering where you'd gone. Who are you calling?"

Victor smiles and plugs in his phone, placing it on the nightstand. Then he reaches out. Yuuri meets him halfway as always, and they drag each other in. A warm, chaste kiss follows. "I had to cancel a hotel reservation," he says.

Yuuri squints. "Why? We're not leaving for another week, and we're not changing the itinerary again."

Victor's grin widens. "Not ours."

Groaning, Yuuri takes two large steps back. "Victor, what have you done?"

"Nothing," he answers, ever so falsely modest. Yuuri crosses his arms, mouth pulled down. He scowls so well. "Fine," Victor amends. "I'm only giving Yurio another birthday present."

Yuuri covers his face. "Oh, God." He rubs hard enough to probably mess up his contacts. "Is it impossible for you to go a day without scheming? Is it like air for you? Do you need it to survive?"

Victor laughs like he always does when he acts this way and gets the response he's been hoping for. "What else are old retirees supposed to do with their time?"

"_Please_ find someone to coach soon," Yuuri begs from behind his hands. "You can't be left alone with your own competitive spirit."

Victor tuts gently, moving towards Yuuri and moving his hands away. "Would you believe me if I said you were wrong about it this time?"

"No," Yuuri answers bluntly, which makes Victor grin wider. They really _are_ taking after each other. "I can't think of anything else it could be."

Victor strokes a hand through Yuuri's hair, fingers trailing down his cheek adoringly. "Maybe I want everyone I love to be as happy in it as I am."

Despite his irritation, Yuuri presses his hand to Victor's. Slides their joined hands around so he can kiss his palm. He's long gotten used to the romance genre that embodies Victor Nikiforov. "And cancelling Yurio's hotel room will do... what?"

"How are you still so oblivious to these things after all these years with me?" Victor laments dramatically. "I didn't cancel _Yurio's_ hotel room! He didn't even _have_ one. I made your mother insist on hosting him ages ago."

Yuuri's head falls back, eyes to the ceiling in a prayer for patience. "Excuse me for keeping out of other peoples' business," he mutters.

Heaving a colossal sigh, Victor makes a show of his pouty disappointment. "My life's greatest mystery is how I can love a man who won't gossip with me."

Yuuri makes a disgusted noise, though he's beginning to fight a grin. "Half of this town gossips with you. You don't need me for that."

Victor clasps Yuuri's hands tightly in his, eyes ablaze. "But I want you to _at least_ appreciate my greatest accomplishments."

"All right," Yuuri relents, finally giving up on trying to look harsh. "Tell me what you did."

Face alight with mania, Victor announces triumphantly, "I cancelled _Otabek's_ hotel room!"

Yuuri stares at him blankly. His eyebrows rise in question. "So?"

Victor throws his hands up, exasperated tantrum fueling his momentum past his husband out of the room. He can be heard down the entire hallway complaining, "I will _never_ understand how I fell in love this way! Never!"

Though confused with the non-answer, Yuuri laughs. Shakes his head. "Liar," he whispers.

By the time he makes it back downstairs, Otabek has passed his phone over to Victor for help. He's speaking in heavily accented Japanese, but still unmistakably thanking the person on the other end of the line for playing along while looking at the object of his game with the utmost concerned sincerity.

Since when had he become such a good actor? Yuuri pauses on the landing and waits.

After another round of thanks, Victor hangs up, sighs a little in resignation, then cheerfully passes Otabek's phone back. "I'm afraid there's nothing to be done about the hotel. And finding another this late would be a waste of time. You're welcome in our home for the night."

Yuuri keeps his derision from himself, though he notes Yurio's eyes are narrow with suspicion. Not that it's unusual in the slightest.

Probably giving himself away further since he's unable to suppress his excitement, Victor continues, "Of course, the rooms are all assigned to other guests, so you'll have to share with Yurio." Both Otabek and Yurio make noises of protest, but Victor, master manipulator that he is, cuts them off blithely. "Since you're _such_ good pals, I'm sure it's _fine_, hmm?"

Yurio looks ready to blow a gasket, but Otabek simply slides his cell phone into the inside pocket of his jacket. "We'll make due."

Victor claps them both on the shoulder hard. "That's wonderful! Problem solved!"

He's actually humming to himself as he makes his way back to the guests, who are all readying to leave.

Yuuri rolls his eyes, but says nothing. It's their wedding night, after all. He can't exactly ruin Victor's wedding present to himself. And if Yurio figures it out and decides he hates it, he'll just stab Victor to make them even.

Yuuri presses his palms together briefly and closes his eyes. "God, please no bloodshed. My parents will make me clean it up."

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

Upon entering his shared room with Otabek for the night, Yuri's first thought is, _Victor Nikiforov is a dead man._ He's absolutely positive that something's up, though without proof he can't commit a murder. Not yet.

His second thought is that the room is even smaller than he remembered. Whether he wants to or not, he and Otabek are going to be practically on top of each other. 

Wordlessly, Otabek rolls his suitcase into the corner of the room by the window, the only place out of the way. He unzips the front pocket and takes out his travel kit. "Where's the bathroom?"

Overcoming his seething anger momentarily, Yuri points down the hall. "On the right."

Feeling more angry at his own foolish reaction compared to Otabek's non-reaction by the minute, Yuri rips off his suit and shoves into a pair of sweats and long sleeved t-shirt. He wraps his arms around himself hard, shuffling to the window. The view of the glittering town and the ocean beyond, steadies him. His eyes are drawn to movement in the courtyard in the dim lights spilling out from the common rooms.

Victor and Yuuri are walking slowly towards the bench under the trees, arms around each other.

Yuuri says something that makes Victor's laughter carry all the way up to the top floor, and the way that Yuuri turns towards him and leans into him looks about as forevermore as Yuri's ever witnessed.

It pisses him off.

He wants to slam the window open and yell obscenities down at them when they start to kiss, but... he doesn't. It'll be his wedding present to them. Instead, he closes the curtains firmly, spinning around.

"Go brush your teeth," Otabek says. Damn him having returned as silently as a ninja.

Yuri snatches up his own kit and stomps out of the room. He brushes his teeth with a vengeance, scrubs his face vigorously, then stomps back. The door is shut and he pauses. 

What the hell is he doing? What the hell is going on? Why can't he calm himself down? He hasn't felt so impossibly agitated like this in years. He rubs his chest. Takes a deep breath. Another. Another.

It doesn't help.

Nothing will help.

He slides the door open. Shuts it behind him.

Just in time because Otabek is on him in a single step, and they're kissing. He's being kissed. He's being _devoured_.

Just like his skating, just like his DJing, Otabek moves without hesitation. His hands are on Yuri's shoulders, _yanking_ him in. 

Unlike in skating, Yuri's balance is thrown and they go down in a heap. It's impossible to miss the futon since it fills nearly the whole space, but it doesn't help his ass much. "Ow, dammit!" he protests.

Otabek is braced over him on forearms and knees. He's grimacing like he's in pain, but the good kind. He's unmoving. "I'm sorry." He sounds it for a lot of things.

"_Now_ you are?" Yuri snaps. "Fuck you."

Otabek moans like a man offered divinity. He squeezes his eyes shut.

"Fuck you," Yuri repeats with feeling.

"I know," Otabek says, voice hoarse.

"All the time," he accuses.

"I know."

"All _this_ time."

"I _know_." It's the first time any sort of irritation has so much as touched his voice.

Finally. "You better finish what you started, you son of a bitch."

Otabek's eyes open. "There's a reason," he says harshly. Winded like he's just finished the toughest free program in history, he pants, "There's a reason I didn't back then."

"Everyone treated me like a kid," Yuri answers. "Not like I wasn't, but... still."

Otabek shakes his head heavily. His hair brushes Yuri's face, lighting him up. "You didn't want to, and it wouldn't have lasted." His gaze burns fiercely. "We wouldn't have made it."

"That's no reason not to have said anything!"

"It would have killed me!"

They're both panting. "If I wanted someone so melodramatic, I would have fallen for Victor."

"No," Otabek answers, voice finally smoothing out. "You won't fall for anyone else. Neither will I."

It's too smooth a line. Any comeback would just slide right off of it.

"I want to skate with you," Otabek begs.

Yuri takes the kiss this time. It's sloppy and there's too much teeth. But it's also exactly what he wants because ever since he'd gone to the senior division, there'd been too little mess in his life. No one had allowed it. But for now, he's got it. His hands in Otabek's hair, twisting it to disaster. Rough hands fisting into his shirt like a lifeline to leave it helplessly wrinkled. It's intense.

Until it's not.

They were parched before and now they're just thirsty.

That's why.

It's so simple, Yuri realizes. It's all so ridiculously simple. 

There's nothing easier than falling in love. There's nothing harder than wanting to.

Otabek has been a lot of things to Yuri. The tenderness is new. Maybe it's never been there until just now. Maybe it's just for him.

Maybe he needs to stop thinking like Victor.

Otabek kisses him as though thanking him. It doesn't matter for what. Yuri's grateful, too. The hands cupping his face should have always been there. The lips meeting his slowly over and over should have always been right where they are. The strong, toned body moving against his should have been warming him since forever.

_"It would have killed me!"_

It probably would have killed him, too. Now's the right time.

Otabek's hot tongue dips into his mouth at the same time he lowers his hips. Barely there friction nearly sends Yuri into overdrive. It feels...

It _feels_.

This is it.

It's like being drunk, only much better. Like static electricity building to a hell of a shock later. He's got to release it or he won't be able to enjoy anything. As always, focusing too much on the technical score, and not enough on the presentation. Victor always said, _"If you can't have those moments where you simply enjoy it, then why are you doing it?"_

A year ago, ten minutes ago, he would have answered, "because I love it." 

He would have thought it about Otabek. 

But once again, experience is changing him. Love and enjoyment are two different things. They're both wonderful on their own. So, what happens when you put them together?

With a soft moan, he reaches into the gap between Otabek's shirt and stomach, hesitant fingers splaying out over his abs. They clench at the contact. Otabek's forehead drops to Yuri's shoulder and he makes a beautiful breathy noise into Yuri's ear that sends goose bumps skittering over his skin.

"Solid," is the only thing that Yuri can think to say as he impatiently tugs at the shirt.

Otabek jerks up to straddle Yuri's knees. He rips his shirt off, then Yuri's. Then he stops. "Thin," he answers reverently.

Reflexively, Yuri folds his arms over his chest. "I'll get some bulk now that I'm done growing."

Otabek knocks his hands away. "Doesn't matter either way. I'll always want you."

Yuri looks his fill in return. Sinew and grace versus bulk and stature. At least they have strength in common. He props himself up on his elbows. "You've been a lot of talk today. Where's the action?"

Otabek leans in. Lips only a hair's breadth away, he murmurs, "Do you really want to push me right now?"

The instinct is always there. Fast and dirty might suit him just fine. Next time. He shimmies his pants down as far as they can go. Otabek watches with rapt intensity. He swallows and licks his lips. It's a surprisingly satisfying reaction.

Fluidly, Otabek falls forward and then rolls to the side, arm tucked under Yuri's neck, hand against the back of his head, holding without trapping. Stroking his hair like what he really needs to do is to grab it.

The abrupt intimacy has Yuri's head spinning. He'd thought that what they'd been doing already was it, but for some reason, laid out on their sides, lightly touching from head to toe... there's no escaping the sensations or the scrutiny. It makes all of it... softer, somehow. It closes the gap between them tightly. Permanently.

Yuri runs his hand up Otabek's arm, over his broad shoulder, against the back of his neck. They move together the same as polished pair skaters. Lips meeting, fingers discovering, heat mixing.

It's almost like he's going mad by the time Otabek's broad hand wraps loosely around his dick. His palm is sweating and it's awkward bumping wrists since they can't seem to bring themselves to create any distance where they actually need it. Their rhythm is off, too. Otabek tries slow, Yuri begs for fast, neither of them give any ground.

Then Otabek kisses him so long and deeply that Yuri can't help slowing down. He bites down on Otabek's bottom lip so that Otabek can't help speeding up.

The fumbling won't stop anything, though. Not with the way that Otabek begins to tense, hard body growing even more rigid.

Yuri arches his spine, head lolling back. He needs to see it.

A flush starts just under Otabek's collarbone, working up the taut tendons on his neck. It settles high on his cheeks, highlighting the tension. His hips jerk once and he growls, throwing himself on top of Yuri, pinning him to the futon, teeth digging into his shoulder as he comes.

The warm slick wetness draws Yuri's attention back to his own pleasure. Otabek's hand hasn't stopped moving the whole time, and the buzzing against his neck isn't his nerves overloading. It's Otabek's voice muttering repeatedly, "Please, please, please."

His orgasm overwhelms him in an instant, an unexpected ocean wave over the top of his head. It curls his toes, draws his whole body up to the surface for air. There isn't any. There's Otabek's mouth on his again and again. He gives up and holds on for dear life.

Impossibly, reality starts to trickle back in eventually. "You're heavy," Yuri murmurs, not letting go.

"It's sticky," Otabek complains mildly.

"You should have brought condoms."

The trembling against him turns out to be laughter. It's low, strange, and pleasant coming from Otabek. "There's two right by the pillow."

Yuri laughs briefly. At least he has hand wipes in his bag and there's a box of tissues by the floor lamp.

They get cleaned up and redressed, giggling uncharacteristically the whole time, but apparently that's what a flood of endorphins does to people who go so long without. They burrow down under the covers, foreheads nearly touching, the rest of them absolutely touching.

It's so quiet all around them, even though the inn is full and has thin walls. Yuri basks in it until Otabek whispers, "Victor's going to try and take credit for this, isn't he?"

"I think that bastard bribed the hotel, but I've got no proof," Yuri grumbles.

"Katsuki won't be a rat?"

Yuri snorts. "There's nothing he hates more than conflict."

"Wimp."

Yuri laughs quietly. "It'll be annoying," he warns.

"I can handle Victor Nikiforov."

"Famous last words."

Otabek takes Yuri by the wrist, pulling his arm out from the covers. Kisses his knuckles. "I didn't expect you to wear this bracelet even when you were skating."

"It's hard to take off," Yuri deflects for no good reason.

Otabek smiles. "I'm glad to hear it."

"Tomorrow," Yuri says.

Otabek's lips twist in confusion.

"I'll take you to the rink. We'll skate."

The kiss hurts where it pushes his lips too hard against his teeth. It's amazing.

Victor can say what he wants, and Katsudon can say nothing at all. 

It won't change anything.

It's all up to Otabek. Up to him. And the gears have been in motion since Barcelona or before. The won't stop now. That's a promise they can make.


End file.
